In Farsi, Birds are called ‘parindey’ And inhabitants are called ‘baashindey’ And even though I know what they are called in Hindi, I pretend that I don’t, And still, I am oblivious to what they are called In the tongue of the French or the Japanese or the Dead. I wonder how a tongue can … Continue reading
I don’t know what my father is. Or who. Who’s a better question. My father is an enigma, my father. He’s a pillar creeping into the clouds, clouds singed with despair and jungles and loneliness. He’s like the red coloured monster they sketch in children’s story-books filled with magical dust and deep pits, He’s a … Continue reading
esthesia 